


Nightmares

by Ulalume



Series: Argent Victor [4]
Category: SWTOR/Pacific Rim AU
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulalume/pseuds/Ulalume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nik Tyen was plagued with nightmares in his younger years. The old nightmares have resurfaced after an unfortunate event when his sparring partner snapped and attacked him. The nightmares disturb his sleep and the sleep of other candidates around him. He's unaware that there's a solution to his problem, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> A work in progress describing Nik's nightmare. Not a full story itself.

He's standing on the cliff. Emptiness stretches before him.

It always starts like this. He hunches, twisting around to look anywhere but into the open space although he knows he shouldn't look behind him.

He looks behind anyway, eyes stretched wide, shivering at the advancing void.

He quickly turns to face forward again. Emptiness is preferable to nothingness.

The waves boom, crashing against the rocks far -- so far! -- below and the wind rushes past him, tugging at his hair, coaxing him to the edge. A puff of air lifts the hem of his t-shirt (the super-soft, worn one he's had for ages), caressing like fingers up his spine. Intimate. Familiar. They've been here before.

It never ends well.

Susurrations like voices eddy around his ears. Chattering, delighted. It encourages him to join but he shakes his head and takes a step back. He looks down and hooks a thumb through a small hole on the side of the shirt, pulling at the unravelling strands. He gasps, stumbling backwards as the hole blooms wide open. Silver light streams into the air, undulating over the cliff's edge and fades away, leaving the memory of cloves. He breathes deeply and --

Icy air buffets against him, stronger this time. Insistent, the pressure relentless between his shoulderblades. His stomach plunges and he digs his heels in. Sharp pain bites into bare feet; his toes grip the sparse vegetation.

Then the sliding starts.

He yells. His heart beats, painful, a frantic staccato in his chest. Shoulders tense, muscles knot and tremble as he drops to his knees, hoping that this time it will be different. Hoping he can stop the inevitable fall.

He can't. He's too late. The silver light is gone.

Nothingness slides into his peripheral vision. Insidious. Familiar.

Tendrils of darkness twine around him, cold and cloying, consuming everything behind him. Consuming him. Faint ululations call, closer now.

His breath is labored. He wants -- needs -- to root into the very rock; immobilize himself. Fighting panic, he closes his eyes and drops to his elbows although he knows it does no good. His dream self sees all, watching himself in a movie.

Still, he bends and presses his face against the earth, the stone, hoping the void will forget him on its path to oblivion. His fingers grasp and finds the earth damp, the stone strangely soft. The scent fills his nose, his mouth, the loamy taste heavy on his tongue, and he is split, one part terror, one part wonder.

This is different.

The earth breathes. He can feel it tickling his scalp, wisping through his hair, warm and secure. The stone cradles him and the void --

the void retreats.

He sighs, his body relaxing into sleep.


End file.
